


The Fire at the Heart of the World

by phdfan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdfan/pseuds/phdfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen’s relationship with Neria Surana punctuates a life spent learning how to balance duty and responsibility.  Written for the Dragon Age Rare Pair Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire at the Heart of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vieralynn (sarasa_cat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasa_cat/gifts).



 

>   
>  The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,  
>  _And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_  
>  _Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._
> 
> \- Transfigurations 10 (verse unknown)

Cullen stood in the doorway of the Chapel, eyes fixed on the bent brown head of the young elf woman within. She knelt before the altar in a circle of warm candlelight. The words of the Chant fell sweetly from her soft lips, while Andraste looked on as though smiling upon her.

Perhaps she did. The older Templars had said that Neria’s Harrowing was the quickest and cleanest they had ever seen. No suspicions that she had taken too long. No fears that an abomination might rise in her place. Just a brief repose on the cold tiles of the fateful chamber while she struggled with temptation alone.

And now here she was, extending her thanks to the Maker.

He could join her. Kneel down beside her and give his own thanks. For her life, for the blood that did not stain his hands. For the conflict that was, for now, avoided. Instead, he simply stood, and watched, the Chant from her lips echoed by his heart.

When he shifted, his armour creaked, and Neria’s quiet words fell silent. She turned, her eyes widening momentarily when she saw him standing in the doorway before her lips curved into the half-smile that became her.

“Cullen,” she said, and her voice was warm, not accusing. It drew him in, his legs moving before he even knew it, until he was standing before her. She raised herself up off her knees, but even standing she only came up to his collarbone. Compared to her, he was both cumbersome and awkward, trapped in the metal armour that designated his role. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “I didn’t think you would come,” she said.

“Because I was…” he trailed off, “At your Harrowing?” he finished lamely. It was not what he meant, but he could see in her eyes that she knew. She tilted her head to the side, studying him, and he wondered what she saw.

When it became obvious that she would not speak, he cleared his throat. “I can escort you back to your quarters,” he said in his most officious Templar tone, then blushed to think he had used that on her. She was still looking at him, no hint in the reflection she held in her large brown eyes. “… If you want me to,” he added sheepishly.

A slow smile spread across her face, and Cullen nearly sighed in relief. “I’m in the mage quarters now,” she said. “Owain brought my things up before I met with Irving.”

Cullen only nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral even while his mind ran on to tell him, oh so helpfully, that the mage quarters were so much more private, so much more discreet. With walls and screens cordoning off individual chambers and less prying eyes and ears in the form of bored, gossip-loving apprentices.

“Would you like to go now?” he asked, turning slightly so that she could fall into step by his side.

She paused, her bottom lip curved in, caught between her teeth, and looked from him to the door and back again. Cullen looked around. There was no one else in the Chapel at this hour. His heart began to beat faster, and his limbs started to feel tingly.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, and was pleased to find he could keep his tone even.

“You said, a long time ago, that if I ever needed to talk to someone…”

“… you could talk to me,” he finished. He had told her that on the first day they had met, when she had been reaching for a book on one of the upper shelves in the library. A Treatise on Creation Magic. He had reached up past her and handed it down. “It’s still true,” he said.

A wave of relief seemed to sap the tension from her muscles. She closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging, and took a step backwards to sink down onto the wooden pew in front of the altar. “Thank the Maker,” she said.

His brows pulling together into a frown, Cullen sat down as well, and turned to her. “What is it?” he asked, longing to reach out to cradle those small, delicate hands in his own - even if his own were cumbersome, clumsy instruments.

“It’s Jowan-” she started, and Cullen felt as though a void had suddenly replaced his internal organs.

“Jowan,” he repeated numbly. Surely not him. A trouble-maker and scape-grace, he knew Greagoir’s opinion of the apprentice. If anyone, not him. Please not him.

“I’m worried about him,” Neria said, and she looked up at him, eyes open wide and appealing.

“Worried about him?” Cullen asked, “How?” And his thoughts flashed onto unwanted advances. Innocent Neria may not know how to respond if a fellow apprentice expressed his interest. He tightened his fist in its gauntlet. If Neria noticed, she gave no sign of it.

“He’s been acting more and more… erratic, lately,” she said. “You know he’s one of the oldest apprentices…” She looked up and when he nodded, she continued, “He’s starting to wonder if he’ll be called for his Harrowing, not when.”

Cullen thought back to the few times he could remember the Knight-Commander mentioning the apprentice. Jowan had been in the Circle for as long as Cullen had served, and had always been the same - pushing his luck with the rules, mouthing off at the Templars. It would not surprise him to learn that he was a candidate for the Rite. But Neria was still looking at him, waiting, so he cleared his throat, cast around for something appropriate to say.

“You know that’s a decision for the First Enchanter and Knight Commander,” he said. She just looked at him, but he was sure that she wanted to roll her eyes. “Sometimes the Rite of Tranquility is the most merciful option,” he added, softly.

“But he’s afraid,” Neria said softly. Cullen nodded, feeling miserable and useless.  
“And I’m sorry for it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably beneath the heavy weight of the platemail. “But sometimes it has to happen.”

“That’s your job,” she said. “Keeping us safe from ourselves.” Was there a sneer hidden in her words? Cullen looked down at his hands.

“It is our duty,” he said.

“And who keeps us safe from you?” she asked. His head snapped back up, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the face of Andraste, beaming her gentle smile down onto her supplicants. Neria stood, still not looking at him. “I’m ready to go now,” she said.

He fell in behind her, and escorted her from the Chapel.

 

> _Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._  
>  _In their blood the Maker’s will is written._  
>  -Benedictions 4:11

Cullen was on duty in the potions laboratory on the day that Jowan escaped. He only found out about Neria’s involvement when he went back to the dorms. When he walked into the common room at the end of his shift, it was all they were talking about.

_Neria._

He wanted to say something. To say that she is more than the words  _traitor_ , or _conscripted_ , or even  _Grey Warden_. That the words  _dutiful_ ,  _careful_ , and _innocent_  belonged to her too. But the other words seemed to wash those ones off his tongue, and he found he had no will to speak.

The other Templars all turned to look at him as he stomped past them, taking off his helmet as he went. The conversation quieted to a whisper, and now there were new words: crush, and young, and should’ve known better. When he walked into the small room he shared with Brandon, he put his helmet down on the washstand and began to unbuckle his armour.

A cough at the doorway arrested him. He turned to see Brandon standing there, his body language stiff and unsure.

“So you’ve heard then,” he said.

“Yes,” Cullen said, focusing on the buckles that held his armour in place. “The apprentice Jowan has escaped.”

“Blood magic, Ryan said. Right under our noses.” Brandon paused. “Neria was with him,” he added.

Cullen turned away, the buckles released suddenly, and the breastplate clanged to the ground.

“I heard that she would’ve been executed, if that Grey Warden hadn’t conscripted her.”

“She wouldn’t get involved with Jowan,” Cullen said, and kept his face turned away. “Especially not if he was using blood magic. She isn’t like that.”

Cullen could feel the sympathy in Brandon’s silence. When Brandon spoke he said, “It could happen to any one of us. It’s not just you.”

Cullen looked up, his face drawn. “It’s not the way it should be. We’re Templars.”

Brandon just smiled, _pity_ , and walked away.

Cullen poured the water from the pitcher into the basin and sponged the sweat off his skin. He tried not to think about it but it was all that occupied his thoughts.

Where was she now? If only he had said something to Greagoir about Jowan, perhaps he could have stopped this. He told her not to get involved with him. Why hadn’t she listened to him? Tranquility would be a mercy for one such as Jowan. Why did she have to throw it all away?

Why?

Later that night, he looked up into Andraste’s beneficent face, but found no answers.

 

> _With passion’d breath does the darkness creep._  
>  _It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep._  
>  -Transfigurations 1:5

She came to him when he slept. Slipping beneath his scratchy woollen blankets, she curled her naked body around his, pressing her lips against his ear.

“Don’t you want me?” she whispered.

“It’s not right,” he said, closing his eyes. “This is not you.”

“Of course it’s me,” she replied, and licked a path from jawline to hairline. “I saw you watching me, Cullen. I know you wanted me. You fantasised about me.” The feel of her tongue on his skin sent his thoughts spiralling downward, wanting more of her skin to touch his, to feel her warmth grow closer, her small body lying on top of his, her hand reaching down to grab him-

“No!” he cried out, and rolled, throwing her off the small bed and onto the stone floor. She looked up at him, eyes and mouth wide with shock. “If you were really Neria, you would not want this. You attempt to deceive me, demon - and it will not work!”

As the demon in the guise of the elf picked herself up from the floor, Cullen clasped his hands together.

“Maker, preserve me in my hour of need.  
Though the darkness shall come upon me, I shall face the light.  
Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.  
For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light, and nothing he has wrought will be lost.”

The demon hissed and vanished, and Cullen found himself once more kneeling in the small cage at the bottom of the steps to the Harrowing chamber. He looked up those steps, could hear the screams emanating from within. His brothers. They had not been able to withstand the temptations of the demons. They had all fallen in different ways. Some, with the promise of a family they could never have. Others, with lovers. A few, with whispers of power and strength. And then those, like him, who had grasped for a love that was forbidden.

The only thing that kept him strong was Neria. Perversely both his greatest temptation, and his greatest strength. Neria, who spent long hours of the night studying in the library. Neria, who had never engaged in the sexual banter carried on by the other apprentices. Neria, who had gone every night to pray in the Chapel. Who had allowed him to escort her to her room, carry her books. She would never stoop so low as to engage in physical relations. The knowledge kept him strong.

“Is this the same Neria who betrayed you for Jowan?” said a whisper by his ear. He jumped up and turned to see the demon, undisguised now, standing there with a knowing look in its eyes. “The same Neria who consorted with a maleficar?” The demon purred; “Maybe she allowed him to use her blood to fuel his spells. Maybe she allowed him to use more than that. Maybe your little Neria was not as innocent as you thought…”

The demon walked around him, one long taloned fingers resting gently on the muscles of Cullen’s chest, tracing a line over his shoulders, around his back.

“Maybe she just led you on. Maybe she liked having a Templar on a leash. A nice little Templar dog to bark when she said so, to keep her safe and feel protected.”

“No,” Cullen said, “She wouldn’t do that,” but the heat was taken out of his voice by the truth that lay beneath her words. Somehow, he must reconcile that Neria - his Neria - had conspired with Jowan. He closed his eyes.

“Cullen?” he opened his eyes and she was standing before him again. He shook his head, knelt and clasped his hands out in front of him.

“I will stay strong,” he said.

“It’s me, Cullen.”

“More lies. You will not deceive me that easily, demon,” he said wearily. “You continue to tempt me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have… I am so tired of these cruel tricks.” His voice broke into a sob.

The elf woman gasped. “Cullen?” she said. He looked up — to see Neria, standing beside Wynne and two people he’d never seen before. Grey Wardens? His brow furrowed. None of his interactions with the demon had been like this before. Her hand covered her mouth, eyes wide, and the tall Grey Warden man standing beside her touched her shoulder with the kind of intimacy he had longed for. “Oh Cullen,” she said, and he could hear the sympathy in her voice. “I am so sorry.”

Cullen stood. It was Neria and she _knew_. Worse than that… “Don’t you dare pity me,” he said, slashing at the air with his hand. “The Maker knows my sin, and I pray he will forgive me.”

The Grey Warden’s eyes narrowed, and he folded his arms across his breastplate.

“We’re here to help,” Neria said, her eyes still overflowing with pity.

“Help?” Cullen barked, and laughed. “What can a mage do to help? Look at what your kind has done to this place. And to think that I once thought we were too hard on you. You all deserve to die. All of you.”

“That is enough,” said Wynne, her voice cracking as she stepped forward in front of Neria as though to shield her. “Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred, where are they?”

“They are in the Harrowing Chamber,” Cullen said, looking up the stairs towards the door from which the screams still echoed. “But you cannot save them. You don’t know what they’ve become.”

Neria looked at him, a tear welling up in the corner of her eye. “I am so sorry for what they’ve done to you, Cullen,” she said.

“You must kill them all,” he said. “For the sake of Ferelden!” he cried out after her. And he watched her turn away and walk up the stairs.

 

> _For You are the fire at the heart of the world_  
>  _And comfort is only Yours to give._  
>  _-Transfigurations 12:1-12:6[27]_

Cullen is on duty in the Gallows courtyard when she arrives. He watches her boat dock with unseeing eyes, his gaze attracted by the colours and sounds of the disembarking passengers. She is wearing Warden blues when she alights, the griffon emblazoned across her chest. He doesn’t recognise her at first. And when he does, she looks older. Her hair is streaked with grey, her face lined with care. But there are the same eyes that turn to look at him, that widen in shock, and then she is running toward her - wrapping her arms around him.

“Cullen!” she cries.

He pulls away, and looks down, before patting her back awkwardly. “Neria?” he says, then remembers. “Your… Highness?”

She laughs, and it is a freer sound than he has ever heard from her before. “No, it is just Neria, Cullen. That title belongs to King Alistair’s wife.” He expects bitterness in her voice, but it is missing, and she is looking up at him, her eyes still laughing.

“What are you… doing here?” he asks, still trying to make sense of _Neria_ and _Kirkwall_ existing in the same place. He had not expected to see anything of his old life here.

“I am tracking down a comrade,” she says. “A Grey Warden called Anders.” Cullen finds himself nodding.

“I know the man,” he says. “He spends his time in Darktown, healing refugees and thumbing his nose at the Knight Commander.”

“Sounds like him,” Neria says with a smile.

A sudden thought grabs Cullen. “Are you and he…?” he asks.

Neria shakes her head. “It’s not like that,” she says. “I’m just afraid he’s in trouble.” And her face, the words, it’s the same as seven years ago, when she told him about Jowan in the candlelit Chapel of the Ferelden Circle.

He will not make the same mistake again.

He reaches out and grasps her fine hand in his clumsy one. “If there’s anything I can do to help,” he says. And means it.

She looks up at him and smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “I think maybe there is.” She clasps his gauntlet with both of her hands, and when she pulls away, nodding at him as she leaves, there is a folded note in his palm.

His hands shake as he opens it.

_The Chantry, after vespers._

Smiling, he tucks it into his belt pouch, and waits for the end of his shift.


End file.
